Russian Roulette
by they'recomingtotakemeaway
Summary: Spencer has a thing for Russian Roulette.  He plays it the same way he does everything else in life -alone.


Spencer Reid had a thing for Russian Roulette.

When he was a kid, no more than seven, he found his dad's gun. It seemed a mysterious, dangerous thing and Spencer was drawn to it, the way a normal child would be drawn to an ice cream truck. But even at age seven, Spencer was no normal child. He had a fascination with death. And when his mother was having one of his worst episodes and his father was nowhere to be seen, sometimes he'd just pull the gun out and hold it for awhile, liking the feel of it in his hands.

Until he read about a certain game, with one bullet, one gun, and random chance. Trying not to think about his parents finding him dead, he had to try it. Still young and stupid enough to believe God would be in charge of what happened he pulled the trigger, telling himself that if it would happen if it was meant to happen, or else he would get the blank.

That stupid kid (not stupid in all the regular ways, but stupid immature) pulled the trigger of his daddy's gun six times. Not at the same time, he would only play one shot at a time. And when it didn't go he would think, "It's not my turn to die today."

When he played it six times, he figured that had to mean something. One bullet and six chambers. Six shots. If he had done it consecutively, he would be dead in a puddle on the floor. So God had to have kept him alive for a reason, right?

This stupid kid isn't really that stupid. He knows that in actuality, there was a thirty five percent chance that he would walk away from that. So it wasn't really all the surprising. Still, he's unnerved a little. He puts his daddy's gun away and goes on living life.

This stupid little kid makes it all the way through high school, first in his class, and thinks that's his ticket out. Like going to the best university possible is going to do anything to fix that inconvenient hole in this little kid's soul. Because he's still a kid. He's only twelve.

Twelve and in Caltech. This kid misses his mom. Not his dad, because his dad was gone long ago. But he misses his mom, even if she's crazy and hard to handle. At least she was someone to talk to. At least there was occasionally someone there at the end of the day to commiserate with.

But that's not the real problem. The problem is he thought it would solve all his problems to go far, far away where he wouldn't have to see anyone from his high school anymore, or deal with his mom. He thought it would solve his problems to be surrounded by like-minded, intelligent individuals.

It was just as miserable as before.

Then this stupid kid remembers his daddy's gun. He remembers how it felt in his hand, pointing at his head. He relaxed a little. Maybe there was a way to solve all his problems after all…

He 'borrowed' the gun. It seemed a much more difficult task than it was. Turns out he wasn't the only stupid suicidal kid at Caltech. This kid knew where his roommate kept his gun. All he had to do was wait until he was in class or at a party or whatever and take the gun somewhere nice and private. And the beauty of Russian Roulette was that he would never notice a missing bullet, unless it was too late to blame little Spencer Reid for anything.

This stupid kid doesn't believe in God anymore. But he believes in fate. He plays this round of Russian Roulette more slowly. Only when he really needs to. A year and a half later, and he done another round and lived to tell the tale (not that he ever would, even if he ever found someone who could listen to what he had to say.) This kid believes in fate. There is only an eleven percent chance he would live through that.

This kid gets a bit less stupid and thinks, _Maybe I should just suck it up. Maybe I'm on this planet for a reason_.

One day this kid wakes up and he's not such a kid anymore. He's got a job at the FBI, as a profiler. Thing is, he's not any less stupid and this time he has no problem finding a gun, they just hand him one. The first dead body he sees makes him not only sick to his stomach and miserable, but it makes him go home and take five bullets out of his gun and spin the remaining one around. He puts the gun to his head like an expert and pulls the trigger.

_Nothing_.

Spencer sighs. He's grown tired of the game. Sometimes he wishes just once he could win it. That would be all it took. He calculates a less than ten percent probability that he is alive.

The next time he picks up a gun, it's after a case in Washington. This kid (_this stupid, stupid kid_) comes up to Spencer and tells him all about how he came to his lecture on sexual sadism. Then he talks about prostitutes. Nothing overly suspicious until he asks why prostitutes are so popular amongst serial killers, and what it would mean if someone were to cut off their hair and stab them.

Spencer tries to get him to come to the BAU, or get some sort of contact information. It doesn't work. He thinks the kid committed these murders. Turns out he's just disturbed and saw a victim. This _stupid _kid is named Nathan, and the whole case all Spencer thinks about is how much he reminds him of himself. Spencer tells Morgan, "I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind." He's immediately surprised that he would reveal such a personal thing. Part of him hopes Morgan responds, helps him somehow. But this stupid man, he doesn't reach out any further. He doesn't ask for help. Because he knows by now that there's never anyone that can help you. Or he thinks he knows.

Even when he finds Nathan when he goes missing the day before his hospitalization, all Spencer sees in Nathan is himself. _Especially _when he finds Nathan, his wrists slashed in an attempted suicide. He saves Nathan, but he doesn't know why. This kid wanted to die, and he would almost certainly kill someone else in the future. Spencer wonders what the point of any of it is.

And this stupid man, he takes the gun to his head another time. He thinks of Morgan when he pulls the trigger.

_Click_.

He's safe. Safe like Nathan's safe. This time won't be the time he gets out. That doesn't save him from any of the pain, from anything that lies ahead of him. But he's not dead.

Less than eight percent chance.

The next time he tries is after the Henkel case. He's desperate and doesn't have any idea how to continue. He's addicted and alone and scared. Living seems an unbearable burden. He takes the one shot that he knows will give him a less than seven percent chance of living.

_Click_.

Spencer kicks the wall, throws all his stuff around violently. He thinks about manning up and really ending it. Taking the last five shots all in a row. A sure fire way to end it. Instead, he takes a needle and shoots something else into his veins.

Morgan gets very mad about the Dilaudid. "Why didn't you ask for help?" And Spencer doesn't know what to say. It's so hard to think these days. He sees the world through a diluted haze and he's angry at the drop of a hat. Morgan holds Spencer in his arms, and helps him get clean. He's always patient and there to listen. Spencer doesn't have time to interpret all these things until much later.

The next time is after a case where Spencer stands by while a teenage girl cheers her father on, telling him to kill the unsub. Spencer tries to make the man stop, but he can't. He just stands there after the father shot the daughter's captor, staring and unable to move. The worst thing was, the father is an important witness and won't be held responsible. They'll both get new identities and new lives filled with evil. And Spencer can't do anything but stand by.

Morgan puts a hand on Spencer's shoulder to comfort him. Spencer likes it too much, and he knows their relationship won't be anything more than platonic. It seemed like only the bad guys get to win. Spencer went home and wanted to cry, but couldn't. Instead he found himself removing all the bullets but one from his gun…

Sixteen shots missed. A bit more than a five percent chance that he is still breathing. But he is. He buries his face in his hands and sobs hysterically. Even this he can't do right.

Now he's craving again. He wants to shoot up more than he wants to shoot himself. He goes to a meeting and tries to help himself, like a contributing member of society would do. But it just keeps getting harder and harder. Morgan makes a comment about him being with a girl when he shows up late to work, and Spencer almost breaks down crying.

The whole case is a disaster, start to finish. All the terrible things the townspeople did to this kid Owen… He's sympathizing with another unsub. They filmed the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to this kid. And his family was no better. The kid didn't stand a chance. Spencer freaks out on everyone, telling them they could have prevented it. Hotch is getting pissed. Spencer realizes somewhere in the back of his head he could be fired for this stupid behaviour, but he finds he doesn't care.

Somehow Morgan and Reid end up alone in Owen's room. And Morgan's telling his own stories of being bullied. Then before Spencer knows it, he is telling his most traumatizing story from high school. And Morgan _understands_. Spencer has never felt more like crying in his life. He wants to wrap his arms around Morgan and just wail. But unrelated to how stupid Morgan would think he is; they are supposed to be working.

They bring Owen in alive. It's Spencer that makes it possible. He wants that to make everything okay again. But it doesn't make his drug problem go away, and it doesn't make him feel any less confused about Morgan. Every time he thinks of his coworker he feels his heart beat faster, and a sick feeling of dread. Maybe a bit of happiness, but it's bittersweet. Spencer thinks he will never have what he wants. Why bother trying anymore?

Shot seventeen goes off without a bullet.

Spencer sighs and wonders how long life could go on in such a state of misery. He wonders if anyone ever dies of a broken heart alone, or if you have to really pull the trigger to die of a broken heart. He loads his gun and puts it away.

There is a kiss. In the middle of the street, spontaneous and unwritten. They are walking to a restaurant, just to get something to eat. Spencer is opening up, something he finds himself doing far too often lately. He's afraid people will tell him he's crazy and hate him forever. But with Morgan it always feels so good to say it. He never judges and it makes Spencer feel like he can trust him with anything. With this comes the panic of "You shouldn't be doing this. You're only going to hurt yourself worse."

"Morgan, do you ever think that there's no point to any of this? I mean, does anything in life ever matter?" Spencer asks.

Morgan grabs his arm and stops him. "I don't ever want to hear you talk like that, Spencer. It matters. _You _matter."

Spencer stands there staring into his eyes and realizes they are both breathing very heavily. Morgan leans in and brushes his lips against Spencer's. The whole thing doesn't last more than ten seconds, but it feels like everything this stupid man ever dreamed of. There are tears running down his face, but they are from happiness and confusion rather than any real sadness. That is until Morgan says the next thing.

"Spencer… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

Tears evaporate into sobs, and Spencer runs faster than he's ever run before. Morgan tries to catch up, but there are too many people in the way and he loses sight of his friend. "Spencer, wait!"

Spencer doesn't wait. He goes home and grabs his gun. This time he's going to do it for real. Out of habit, he leaves only one bullet in and gives the chamber a good hard spin. That doesn't matter. Sometime in the next six shots he'll get to the bullet.

Before Spencer has a chance to pull the trigger even once, Morgan kicks down his apartment door and finds him sitting on the couch with the barrel of his gun resting neatly against his temple.

"Spencer, please put the gun down. Let's just talk about it. Whatever it is, it can't be worth it. Just tell me what's wrong and we can figure things out together."

"Morgan, it's okay," Spencer whispers before pulling the trigger.

_Nothing_.

Spencer puts the safetyon and puts his gun down on the coffee table. "It's just Russian Roulette."

"Spencer, that's a one in six odds you could have just died. I am _not _okay with that," Morgan says. He bites back from saying "What were you thinking?" He doesn't want to make things any worse.

"It's okay," Spencer says. "I don't play fair. I know how to spin it so the bullet's not in the right place. I can hear where it goes; I can feel it in the weight of the gun."

Morgan takes a seat on the couch next to Spencer, but not too close. "You scared me half to death, Spencer. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Spencer throws his arms around Morgan and cries hard, like he wanted to do on the Owen Savage case. "Morgan, I need help…"

"We'll get you help. All the help you need," Morgan says patting him on the back. "Spence, what did I do to scare you away? Was it the kiss, or what I said after?"

Spencer pulls back from the hug, wiping his eyes. "Which one did you mean?"

Morgan debates whether it's the best thing to tell him at that moment. But he doesn't want to lie. Spencer deserves the truth. "I meant the kiss. I meant it, Spence. You matter to me a lot."

"I meant it, too," Spencer says, grabbing Morgan's hand and looking down. "I love you, Derek…"

"I love you, too, Spencer," Morgan says, running a hand through his hair. "May I… May I kiss you again?"

Spencer nods his head, and they lean together slowly. The build-up is almost unbearable; they've both been waiting so long. Their lips touch, and just linger there for a minute. It's sweet and perfect, like a wedding kiss.

Now their fingers are interlocked on both hands, and they smile at each other for a minute.

"Spencer, you know I want to hear everything, right? Everything that upsets you. All the reasons you're so unhappy."

Spencer found a comfortable spot with his feet on one side of Morgan's legs and the rest of him leaning on the opposite side of his body. His head rested on Morgan's shoulder, and Morgan's arm around him. His bent knees rest against Morgan's chest, and Morgan rubs one of his calves casually. "Everything?" Spencer says. "It started when I was a kid…"

This stupid kid, that didn't believe that anyone would ever help, this stupid man that was afraid to see the love that was right in front of him –maybe he isn't so stupid after all.

* * *

**A/N: I'm **_**dying **_**to know what you think of this one. I found myself really liking it. But I think some people may not appreciate what I did with this. But I had so much fun with this and I like what happened so much that I **_**almost **_**want to make it a multi-chap. But it should end there… There really isn't room for more… Besides I'm working on way to much right now to take that on.**

**Anyway, please review and tell me what you thought. Thanks for reading!**


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